Karkat's Advice Column
by experimentaldragonfire
Summary: Karkat is the romantic consultant for one of Alternia's more obscure newspapers. When a certain Terezi Pyrope anonymously writes him a letter asking for advice about an oblivious potential matesprit, will he be able to connect the dots and realize that he is the one she's attempting to get the attention of?


**I've been working on this for a while now, and while originally it was supposed to be a oneshot, I decided to break it into chapters purely so that I could post what I had written instead of writing another however-many words this is going to be before putting this up. I apologize for any OOC-ness in advance. I might go back and edit this after I've finished the story.**

**Homestuck belongs to Andrew Hussie, who is currently making hundreds of thousands of dollars off of a kickstarter for a game that won't be released for two years and may potentially bring about the end of the world.  
**

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All in all, Karkat Vantas was _not_ happy with his job.

Sure, he worked for a newspaper, which would generally be considered a respectable career option. This case, however, was the exception to the rule. The ideal job choices for the young troll did not include working for a tiny, obscure company which produced a tiny, insignificant paper every two weeks, under the all-too-watchful eye of an easily-irritated boss. Especially as the position he held among the newspaper's staff was that of the fucking _romantic consultant_. Unfortunately, jobs were scarce, and no matter how awful the job was, Karkat considered it far better than having none whatsoever. And, although he'd never admit it to anyone, he _might_ possibly enjoy helping others solve their romantic issues.

That didn't change the fact that on a daily basis, he had to sift through the letters sent in to the newspaper's office in order to find something to write about. This generally consisted of finding about sixty-two letters of pathetic attempts at trolling, twenty-eight letters from whiny teenagers about their popularity issues, thirteen letters that were actually sincere, and one or two that were actually worth answering. Locating the elusive one or two that would make it into the newspaper was an ordeal that could take all day, and the reason that Karkat could be found at his desk a full three hours before the other employees of the paper began to arrive. There were rumors that he didn't sleep at all. Of course, they were only rumors. Who would be insane enough to subject themselves to days or weeks without a wink of sleep?  
After what felt like years of sifting through the almost comically tall pile of letters that had stacked themselves on his desk throughout the week, Karkat finally found one that he had deemed worthy of a response. He sat, pensive, chin leaning on one loosely curled hand as he considered how to word his answer. His eyes scanned the letter once more.

_D34R K4RK4T,  
FOR 4S LONG 4S 1 C4N R3M3MB3R, 1 H4VE B33N FLUSH3D FOR 4 C3RT41N TROLL. HOW3V3R, H3 4LW4YS 1GNOR3S 4NY 4TT3MPT 1 M4K3 TO SHOW H1M MY F33L1NGS. 1F 1 W4SNT SUR3 4BOUT H1S F33L1NGS TOW4RDS M3, 1 WOULD TH1NK H3 W4SNT 1NT3R3ST3D, BUT 1 C4N S4Y W1TH R34SON4BL3 C3RT41NTY TH4T H3 S33S M3 4S 4 POT3NT14L M4T3SPR1T. WH4T SHOULD 1 DO TO M4K3 SUR3 MY F33L1NGS 4R3 R3C1PROC4T3D?  
S1NC3R3LY, T1R3D OF B31NG 1GNOR3D_

The writing style looked familiar, but with his mind swimming from the hundreds of letters he had read that day, Karkat couldn't place it. Instead of bothering with thinking it over more, he simply placed his hands upon his keyboard and began to type out a response.

_DEAR TIRED OF BEING IGNORED,  
FIRST OF ALL, WHATEVER POSESSED YOU TO CHOOSE SUCH A CLICHED, OVERUSED PHRASE AS A NAME? OH, MAYBE IT WAS THE FACT THAT YOU'RE WRITING ABOUT SUCH A CLICHED, OVERUSED SCENARIO. DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW MANY MOVIES ARE WRITTEN ABOUT THE EXACT SAME SITUATION?  
ANYWAY, SO I DON'T SPEND THIS ENTIRE TIME RANTING ABOUT HOW YOUR LIFE APPEARS TO PARALLEL ALMOST EVERY ROMCOM EVER WRITTEN, I'M GOING TO GET TO THE "ADVICE" PART OF THIS SHITTY COLUMN. SO, YOU WANT TO BE NOTICED? MAYBE YOU'RE NOT BEING OBVIOUS ENOUGH. FROM WHAT I HEAR, YOUR FLUSHCRUSH APPEARS TO BE PRETTY DENSE. TRY BEING EXTRA NICE TO HIM, MAKE __HIM DINNER OR SOMETHING. BE MORE OBVIOUS WITH YOUR AFFECTION THAN NORMAL. IF ALL ELSE FAILS, JUST GRAB HIM AND KISS HIM. IT'S NOT THAT FUCKING HARD. WATCH A MOVIE OR READ A BOOK AT SOME POINT. HAVE YOU NEVER EVEN FUCKING GLANCED AT THE EXCEEDINGLY IMPRESSIVE SELECTION OF ROMANTIC FICTION AVAILABLE?  
SINCERELY, KARKAT_

Finished, he set down his pen (somehow, smashing out words on a computer keyboard didn't express his frustration as well as digging into paper with a writing utensil. Anyway, the newspaper's head technician, Sollux, had banned him from being within ten feet of a keyboard after he'd ruined three with furious typing), rolled the chair out from behind the desk and stood up. Fuck writing any other letters for the paper, it was late and he was tired. If his boss had a problem with it, he could respond to the letters himself. It's not like Slick would be able to contact him before the paper was printed the next morning.  
Karkat snatched his keys from his desk and his coat from the hook beside the door. He yanked the aforementioned hinged wooden slab open roughly and exited the room, letting it slam shut behind him as he stormed down the hallway, desperate to leave the oppressive atmosphere of the building.

The next day was as boring and slow as always. Karkat woke up after about three hours of restless sleep, dragged himself out of his recupracoon, and grabbed what he hoped was a clean shirt and pair of pants from his drawers. He dressed and descended the stairs in order to prepare breakfast, only to catch sight of a clock and realize that he hardly had time to pour himself a cup of sickeningly awful coffee if he wanted to avoid being late to work...again. Deciding to forgo the coffee for now, he jammed his feet in his shoes and dashed out of his hive, awkwardly running down the street with his coat half-on as he attempted not to trip on the dangling laces by his feet.

Upon his arrival at work, Karkat found himself confronted by his boss, a very temperamental and, at present, a very pissed off Spades Slick.

"Do you know how many letters you're supposed to reply to every day, kid?" Slick had a habit of calling Karkat "kid." Predictably, this annoyed Karkat to no end, but as any attempt to put an end to the nickname would probably get him fired on the spot, he put up with it.

"Three. I know, I only wrote one yesterday, what's your fucking problem? It's not like I slack off all the time."

"My problem is that you wrote two letters less than you were supposed to! How do you expect me to be able to make a fucking living off of this paper if my employees don't do what I fucking pay them to?"

Karkat was in no mood to continue the conversation. "Look, it won't happen again. Can I just fucking go now so I don't get home at the same ungodly hour of the night that I have done all week?"

Slick glared at him, but turned away and walked back towards his office. Karkat waited until he could no longer see the scottie-dog obsessed man, and let himself release a small sigh of relief. Normally he would jump at the chance to argue with someone, to get his opinion out, but today, for some reason he couldn't quite place, he wanted nothing more than to get home and have a nice, peaceful evening.


End file.
